


Sparkling Cyanide

by Andrina_Nightshade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But nothing overtly sexual, Dark Rey (Star Wars), Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Flirting, Or so Ben thinks at least..., Poisoning, Twist in the tale, Unrequited Crush, murder plots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27278851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade
Summary: Kylo Ren wants out, yet the First Order is not easily left behind nor would Snoke permit it. But there is nothing more desperate than a trapped man…Written for the Reylo Creatives Discord's "Reyloween Challenge". Prompt: Ben Solo in the dining room with poison...
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36
Collections: Reylo Creatives: Reyloween Challenge





	Sparkling Cyanide

**Author's Note:**

> This is most assuredly not the use of a chemistry degree and a love of Agatha Christie mysteries that I expected to use in my adulthood, but life is a funny thing. 
> 
> Many thanks to LexiRayne2187 for beta-reading this story for me!
> 
> The title comes from an Agatha Christie novel.

At age twenty-three, Ben Solo was poisoned. 

The sweet venom Snoke whispered in his ear had been a balm to that yawning emptiness within him; a curse to drive away the voices that told him he was weak, inadequate, unwanted. He chased those promises until he was intoxicated and ready to surrender himself in every way.

Ben Solo died and awoke again, as Kylo Ren. 

But there was no promised euphoria. Doubt seeped into him like corrosion. The ghost of his past self still whispered in his mind and no amount of pride in his work could quench the bitterness of guilt with every sin he committed at Snoke's behest.

As the years grew long, and every joy tasted of ash upon his tongue, all he knew was regret. Perhaps, one day, he might have found a way to live with that. But to the First Order, loyalty was a pledge seared with blood.

Only death could absolve him of his covenant.

* * *

The little vial felt heavy against his thigh. Unconsciously, his fingers slipped into his pocket caressing the cool glass. 

These “functions” were a burden at the best of times, full of sycophants with their cruel eyes and glacial smiles, jockeying for Snoke’s favour. And Snoke would sweep around the room, bedecked in his black suit and golden cummerbund with his most devoted and fanatical supporters following in his shadow. His acolytes would cram themselves full of expensive whiskeys, lobster thermidor, Iberian hams, and gaudy desserts with smoke and golden flecks; and, in their debauchery they would concoct new ways to harm the First Order's enemies and strengthen their leader's power.

Kylo felt that he ought to grab a champagne flute from one of the more junior acolytes dancing around with their trays of alcohol and hors d'oeuvres, flattered to even be in this room albeit reduced to the role of waiter. Such was the loyalty that Snoke inspired, or the folly of those who listened to him. Each of them as rotten and cruel inside as their Supreme Leader.

And, on any other night like this, he would have been three glasses deep before dinner even started. But tonight, he needed his wits sharp, not dulled by intoxication.

His skin felt hot. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, rubbed a hand over his neck. His breath hitched as he felt a burning gaze land upon him.

His eyes flickered upwards, towards the corner where he knew Snoke was holding court,but the Supreme Leader's back was to Kylo.

No, the dark eyes staring at him belonged to Kira. Her lips quirked upwards, the merest hint of a guilty smile, before her attention snapped back to her conversation with Phasma.

But there was something dangerous and feral and _knowing_ in her gaze. Kylo swallowed and hastily crossed the ballroom.

Fuck. He _wanted_ her.

Never mind that she was Snoke's foster daughter, his most rabidly devoted lieutenant, the only one with the security to question the Supreme Leader. Menace seemed to radiate from her. Like a forest fire, she was deadly but majestic. And, for the last few years, Kylo had lusted after her. 

Nights were spent imagining her laughter, her cherry-red lips trailing lazily over his flesh, the sounds of her pleasure and passion as she came undone at his touch. 

But tonight, he did not need this toxic distraction. Even if she looked devastatingly beautiful in her black silk gown and her long hair pinned up a sapphire ornament in the shape of a butterfly.

Kylo reached into his suit pocket, felt the security of that little bottle still nestled against his thigh. Fucking up tonight was not an option. Not due to intoxication, and definitely not due to _arousal_.

When his gaze snapped back to her, she was still deep in conversation. 

The ballroom buzzed with chatter, but he knew those whispered words contained more than idle platitudes and gossip. Everyone in this room was as cruel and debauched and _evil_ as Snoke. Suffering and power were their twin drugs, and Snoke fed it to them.

But after tonight, Snoke's reign would end.

* * *

The notion had come to Kylo some months before. One of those silly thoughts that flirted across his mind before being dismissed. 

But this idea would not be quieted. It settled like a seedling in fertile soil, until its roots had strangled every other thought like a weed.

Of course, the actual _planning_ had been difficult. He knew Snoke would be monitoring him, as he did every one of his lieutenants. Phone taps, unfettered access to their Internet histories, rumoured honeytraps… Kylo even suspected that the Supreme Leader might have installed hidden cameras in their apartments.

But there were other methods of research that Snoke could not readily spy upon, and Kylo took ready advantage of these.

Hours spent in a public library, browsing and jotting down notes without ever actually borrowing the books. Meticulous calculations done by hand. Seemingly innocuous ingredients, paid for in cash just to be safe. Nothing even remotely suspicious or traceable. 

And tonight, with the fruits of his labours tucked in his pocket, he would see his plan to its end.

The chatter from the ballroom grew fainter as he stalked the hallway towards the dining room. 

Kylo expected some resistance, to have to pick the lock, but instead the door slid open with ease.

The room was dark, moonlight poured in through the open curtains. They were far enough away from the city and its light pollution that the stars were visible overhead. As a boy, he had taken comfort in the constellations; the sheer awe and majesty of the universe. 

Now, those twinkling lights only served to mock him.

He moved quickly, silently. Past two dozen empty chairs to the gauche and golden throne at the head of the table. Just behind it was the bar, its marble surface laden with a dozen crystal decanters.

Kylo carefully unstoppered each one and sniffed at the beverage within. Whiskeys heavy with the scent of smoke and peat, crisp vodkas ; and, finally, the rich almond scent of Snoke's favoured Amaretto.

The glass vial in his pocket felt as heavy as the world as he reached for it and carefully decanted its contents into the drink.

Blood pounded in his ears. Once the deed was complete, he grasped for the wall and pressed his brow against it.

Perhaps this would be the last act he committed on this earth. His moment of atonement for every sin, his inevitable execution, some grand sacrifice for the greater good. 

For he knew, undoubtedly, that would be caught and he would suffer. But Snoke's death would expunge a purulence from the world, and that would be worth it.

Ben Solo would rest in peace, forgotten but free.

"Was the champagne not to your liking, Ren?" 

Kylo turned so fast he was almost dizzy.

Leaning against the door frame, with narrowed eyes and a sardonic smile, was Kira.

_Fuck._

Before he could formulate a response, an excuse; before his lips and tongue would cooperate with his mind, she had crossed the room to stand but a few feet away.

Her eyes were dark, but under the moonlight her skin was almost translucent against the black of her gown. She wore stark red lipstick with dark, dramatic eyes but had not bothered to conceal the smattering of freckles upon her cheeks.

She quirked an eyebrow upwards, her gaze expectant.

And Kylo realised that he had yet to answer her.

"Just needed some air," he said lamely and gave a tug on his tie as if to verify the lie.

"Indeed. Although outside might have been preferable to the dining room. Fresher air, et cetera."

She swept past him to stand by the large window. Shadows from the trees that swayed in the wind danced across her face. 

Kylo felt the blood pounding in his ears. Though her tone was even, and her gaze focused on some unseen point in the garden below, a voice screamed in his mind that _she knew._ Or, at the very least, suspected.

If Kira suspected, then so too would Snoke… and with that thought, the narrowest hope of him leaving this place alive evaporated.

But if certain death was his future, then he would make sure he died as Ben Solo. Not Kylo Ren.

"I'm not a fan of these events," she said. Even though her voice was soft, it shattered the silence and Ben jumped. A huff that might have been a laugh escaped her. "Too many people jostling for my father's attention. I dislike crowds." Her eyes flickered to his, "And I suspect you do too." She turned and folded her arms over her chest, "Still, I've found ways to get through it."

"Oh?" What Ben hoped would be a casual tone instead came out vaguely strangled. 

She reminded him of a cat with feline grace, with a feral undercurrent and the obvious joy she had toying with him before she slaughtered him.

"Yes, as tedious as these events are, at least one is surrounded with sufficient treats to make the experience bearable." She flashed him a grin. 

"I see. And what treats tempt you?"

Arousal pulsed within him, an odd bedfellow to his growing anxiety, as her gaze trailed over him. 

"Only the sweet variety," Kira said, licking her rouged lips. "Tonight, I find myself craving marzipan and tiramisu. Delicious, but perhaps not the… _safest_ combination…"

"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning, ma'am."

"No?" Again, she flashed him that sinister grin. "Tell me, _Kylo_ ," he flinched at the name, "Are you familiar with the term LD-50?"

Bile burned in his throat. She _knew._ She knew, and was relishing in the act of tormenting him. 

At that moment, Ben was as good as dead now and so was his goal. 

_Thus ends the tragic, foolish life of Ben Solo._

Bravado failed him. He shook his head, his body taut with barely contained tremors.

Kira clicked her tongue, "Disappointing. You always seemed somewhat intelligent; but, then again, such a male trait to disguise ignorance beneath bravado." Her tone grew condescending, like that of a disappointed teacher, "The LD-50, also known as the median lethal dose, is the amount of a poison it would take to kill fifty percent of a given population. For example, the LD-50 of cyanide is about half a gram. Another fun fact about cyanide is that some people can detect the scent of almonds when they smell it."

She unfolded her arms and Ben's heart stopped when he saw that familiar glass vial cradled in her open palm.

"I wonder what I might smell," she said coolly, "If I were to open this?" She lifted the unstoppered vial to her nose and breathed deeply. "Interesting cologne, Kylo."

His limbs were paralysed, even his tongue felt heavy and cloying. "How did you know?" He eventually croaked.

Kira tucked the bottle, the tangible proof of his crime, into the cleavage of her gown. She stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes with her free hand. The scent of almonds hung in the air, so potent that Ben felt he might choke from it. 

Her lips teased his earlobe, a warm rush of breath against his neck, "You've been on a hairpin trigger all evening. It's been quite obvious." 

_She's alone_ , the darker voice of Kylo purred in his mind. _You should wrap your hands around her throat and snap her neck before she calls for help._

But he couldn't murder the woman whose name he cried out in release, who formed the crux of his masturbatory fantasies, even if his inaction would cost him his life.

Despite the danger, his traitorous cock stirred in his trousers. 

Her lips followed a lazy trail along his jawline. She smelled of roses and some expensive perfume, a heady fragrance.

This situation was so profoundly _wrong_ , but sense fled him in those moments. He surrendered to the caress of her mouth as it moved lower, her tongue flicking against his neck. How many times had he imagined this situation in his fantasies?

In precisely none of them was he in the midst of attempting to poison her foster-father. 

And with that thought, the fires of his lust were doused with cold sense. He roughly pushed her away and saw anger flash in her eyes.

"Don't you want me, Kylo?" She said in a low murmur, her voice tight as she tried to stifle her fury. "Because the way you look at me says otherwise."

He tried to formulate some retort. Instead, what came out was, "Six point four milligrams per kilogram."

Kira laughed, a dark sound which chilled him to his very marrow. "So you did know," she said. "I'm glad - otherwise you'd have been a terribly amateurish poisoner." 

She swept past him again and grabbed the decanter of amaretto. With exaggerated clumsiness, she let it slip through her fingers and shatter upon the ground; seeping its poison into the fine carpet.

And with it, Ben's crushed hopes… 

"What am I going to do with you, Kylo?" She said with a teasing lilt, pushing him against the wall. He was strong, his strength could have tossed her aside like a rag doll, but he had never raised his hand in violence to a woman and he would not do so now.

Suddenly, her body was pressed to his, one of her legs notched over his hip. Without conscious thought, his hand slid to grasp her thigh, feeling the brush of warm flesh against his palm. There was no way that she couldn't feel his erection against her, but she shot him that wicked grin again and her eyes darkened with something dangerously akin to lust. 

Ben swallowed. Kira pressed her lips to his Adam's apple, her breath like dragon’s fire against the cold sweat of his flesh. 

"Why are you doing this?" He rasped.

"I thought you were like the rest of them," she said against his flesh, slowly kissing a path up his jaw once more. "Pathetic sycophants. And I was disappointed. I had always hoped there was something deeper, and better, beneath that grim countenance of yours. But now," her teeth grazed his earlobe, "now I know I was wrong. You're just like me."

Something pierced the haze of his lust. His fingers dug into the bare flesh of her biceps and he pulled her away. 

"I don't understand."

A pout formed on Kira's lips. "Back to playing the ignoramus again, are we, Kylo?" That wet tongue came out to lap at her lips again. Her scarlet lipstick was smudged from the ministrations of her lips against his neck. 

How he wanted to kiss the rest of it away…

"You said I was like you," he said slowly, his brain fogged as though he had ingested a narcotic.

Kira nodded, "Exactly like me. Hating what you've become, the sins you've committed in the name of some false idol. Desperately afraid and ashamed, willing to do _anything_ to get out."

Awareness settled over him, his eyes widened and his jaw slackened. 

She took advantage of the moment to brush her lips against his. When she pulled away, her eyes were strangely soft, "He's already dead... they all are." 

Ben's knees collapsed beneath him. Only her grip, surprisingly strong for her lithe frame, kept him upright.

"You're free. We both are."

Hot tears fell onto her shoulder, seeping into the fabric of her gown. "How?" He rasped.

"Something a little more sophisticated than cyanide," she whispered, her hand entangled in his hair. He clung to her like a child, desperately drawing whatever comfort he could from her touch. "He can't destroy us anymore, Kylo."

"Ben…" 

A smile teased Kira's lips. She let go of him and he slid to the ground in a heap. She dropped to her knees and took his hand, "That's a good name. Much better than Kylo." Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, "I look forward to knowing you as Ben."

An animalistic sound tore from his throat. "I don't _know_ how to be Ben any more," he said, fighting to get the words out. His throat felt full of glass shards, "I never expected…" Ben squeezed his eyes shut. 

"To live?" Kira said softly.

A wordless nod was the only reply he could muster.

"Was this some grand and noble sacrifice, Ben?" 

He nodded again.

Of all the responses he could have anticipated, Kira rolling her eyes and giving an exasperated huff was not among them. "That is such an irritatingly masculine approach." Cool fingers grasped his chin to hold her gaze, gentle yet firm. "Go down in a blaze of glory, some noble _self-sacrificing bullshit,_ and never actually have to do the hard work of fixing what is broken."

Her words landed like a slap even as her caresses against his skin remained achingly tender.

And then, Kira leaned close again to kiss him. She tasted of champagne, of the first breath of summer. Of freedom. Every brush of her lips against his was as delicate as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Tears leaked from his eyes, wetting both their cheeks. His breaths shuddered against her mouth and she pulled away to bury his face against her neck again.

"You _can_ be Ben again, the same way I can be Rey," she whispered into his hair.

Ben pulled back to stare at her through misty eyes. Her own hazel gaze was glistening with unshed tears.

"Rey," his mouth cradled the name. It suited her, more than Kira ever had. There was a lightness to it; perhaps it had always been there, buried beneath the dark allure that had drawn him in?

She nodded. "You aren't the only one with some atoning to do. But perhaps we can help each other with that?"

They started by helping each other to their feet, straightening ruffled and creased clothing. Ben reached for Rey's hands, so small and pale and _warm_. She had just murdered two dozen people not minutes ago, but there was no trace of blood upon her skin. 

Guilt might come for her; he had feared it coming for him had he survived poisoning Snoke. But Ben knew, with the certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow, that whatever demons followed her he would hold her hand in his and they would exorcise them together.

He told her so, and she laughed before kissing him again, this time with barely restrained passion. 

Let the pitiful remnants of the First Order tear themselves to ribbons. Ben Solo no longer cared.

And with Rey's hand in his, her lipstick kissed away and painting his flesh, they evaporated into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
